Someday
by Silver Zarathustra
Summary: He wanted to grab a fist full of her hair and pull her close and bury his face in her locks. To hold her, and let her hold him. He wanted, needed to love and be loved.
1. Chapter 1

Whoever said "Older men declare wars, but it's the youth who must fight," would have looked down on the cemetery with a knowing and sad face. Three people stood before three tombstones, the ground that lay before the stones still soft and overturned.

A thick mist hung in the sky, deepening the already morose atmosphere. A muggle car drove past, it's headlight's glinting off the water caught in the lettering.

The W.

The same W that was cut into each grave marker.

The W for each Weasley that was put into the ground.

Three other Weasleys had been put to rest that past year. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been killed when a large group of Death Eaters had surprised them at The Burrow. The house was set ablaze before the Dark Mark had even been summoned to the sky. Their bodies were gone, but two memorial markers stood down the row. Between them and the new stones was another, marked _Percy Ignatius Weasley_. The victim of another Death Eater attack, this one a blatant and aggressive one in the Ministry of Magic offices.

These three graves were brand new, young like the bodies they held. George, Ron, and Ginny, respectively. Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter stood before them, respectively. Looking at the people who meant the most to them.

None of them spoke. The only sound hanging in the air was a harsh intake of breath they frequently took to help hold back the tears they refused to let out.

After a quarter of an hour, unable to stand the silence any longer:

"So now what do we do?"

Fred started at the sound, and looked at Hermione. "I dunno," he replied quietly, eyes rimmed red and glassy.

"Are you doing okay?"

He nodded his head quickly. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He cleared his throat and swallowed harshly. "I got owls from Bill and Charlie. They said they're sorry they missed the burial, but it's too dangerous for them to just up and leave right now."

He turned to his twin's grave and sat down on the dirt, his back resting on the stone. "I hope they're alright," he whispered, his voice breaking. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Hermione turned to Harry. "How about you? How're you holding up?"

Harry didn't answer. He stood there, arms crossed and glasses wet, staring at Ginny's headstone. His eyes weren't red nor did his lips quiver; Hermione wasn't sure she'd seen him shed a tear at all.

"Harry?"

He down on the ground. "I was going to ask her to marry me. I know we're too young, but I wanted an answer for after the War ended." His voice was low and monotone. "I love her so much. I just want her to know how much."

Hermione crouched next to him and put her arm around his shoulders. He didn't seem to notice.

He reached out suddenly and wiped the water off the _Weasley _inscription. "Ginevra Potter has a nice little ring to it," he said to no one, tracing an _e_ with his finger.

Fred broke completely and let out a sob, covering his face with hands. The sound was so completely heartbreaking that tears sprung to Hermione's eyes. She let go of Harry and crawled over to him.

"Hey, it's okay. Shh... let it go, it's alright." She brushed the hair from his forehead.

He jerked away from her hand and glared at her. "It is _not _okay, Hermione!" he cried throatily. His blue eyes shone with anger and sadness, tears clinging to his ginger lashes. "They are killing off my family! I've lost my little sister; my only sister. I'm her older brother and I couldn't EVEN PROTECT HER!"

His voice echoed through the graveyard, bouncing off the statues and tombstones until it died at the gates.

"My little brother is dead! He's another one I should have been able to take care of. I promised Mum and Dad that I would take care of the family no matter what. And the two people I should have been protected above everyone else are gone!

"And Percy! He was finally coming around. Mum and Dad's death had made him realize what was important. But they got him, too."

His voice broke again, and he wiped his nose as he inhaled to calm his quavering voice.

"George is **dead**. He is right here." He patted the ground beneath him. "I'm not a twin anymore, Hermione. I'm just Fred; the days of FredAndGeorge are gone. I used to able to feel him, in the back of him mind. I could feel what he was thinking. I knew where he was."

Tears rolled to his lips; he licked them away and kept going.

"But now... now it's so empty up there. You have no idea what it's like to have someone always there, always knowing _exactly _what you were feeling _exactly_ when you were feeling it, and then just having them gone. You may think it's the same with you and Ron, but it's nowhere near that.

"I can never replace that. I can't just go out to a pub or to a show and find a new twin. My entire life stopped when George's heart did. So do not tell me it's bloody alright. Because you haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Tears escaped from Hermione's eyes, and she brushed them away quickly. "Fred, I'm not trying to say that it's okay what they're doing to your family. I would never think that. I... I just don't know what to say." She grabbed his hand trembling hand. "I haven't read any books on this yet," she laughed weakly.

He offered a small smile and squeezed her hand. She sat down too. "So what do we do about Harry?"

Fred looked over at him still tracing the letters on the headstone. "I'm not sure. He's got to feel awful. You know, he blames himself for every death in the Weasley clan. He says that if he'd never met us, we might still all be here." He sighed and shook his head. "I tried to tell him we were all involved in the War before he was even born, but he won't listen."

They were quiet again, stewing over all that had happened.

"We should get going; it's getting dark." Fred pushed himself and wiped himself off. "And I don't know about you, but I am starving." He offered his hand to Hermione, who took it.

"Yeah, I could use a bite to eat," she answered as she was pulled to her feet. "Do you want to come with us, Harry?"

He looked up at her, eyes still dry. "I think I'll stay here for a bit longer. I'll meet up with you guys later."

"Alright, don't stay here alone too long though," she warned.

"See you later, mate," Fred said. He put his hand on the small of Hermione's back and led her toward the gate.

As they walked away, they heard a broken cry from behind them. Hermione started to turn, but Fred stopped her.

"No. He wants to be alone for this."

"Why doesn't he cry in front of us," she asked as they started moving again. "He can't think we'd mind."

"The thing with Harry is that he's always been the guy who's come out more or less in the battles while people around him are hurt and killed. Hell, he's The Boy Who Lived; it's what he's famous for. You can only do that so many times before it breaks you. And now they're hurting him through the people he cares about, and they've been doing it all his life in the public eye. He needs privacy every once in awhile."

Hermione sighed and pulled open the steel gate. "I hate this." She looked back at Harry, who was leaning on the tombstone, visibly racked with sobs. "I hate that I can't do anything to help him."

"I know," Fred answered as he held the gate open for her. "No one ever likes war, but not too many people know what it's like to be the cause of one. So all we can do is be there for him."

He closed the gate behind him, and they walked to the restaurant at the end of the street.

In the cemetery, Harry's tortured cries hung in the air, heavier than the mist.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck as she walked down her parent's street; white flakes fell around her, sticking to her hair and jacket. In the couple of months since Ron's burial, she found herself visiting her parents more and more. They knew of the War, but they had no idea exactly how extreme and heinous it had become. And she'd conveniently forgotten to mention how exactly she was involved in the whole thing. So going back home for her was like going back to a simpler time, when there was nothing to worry about except exams or reading.

She hurried along the sidewalk as the wind slowly picked up, grabbing at her clothes. She was on her way to Harry flat; she hadn't heard from him in a couple days so she decided to drop by and see how he was doing.

Hermione looked around to make sure no muggles were looking and then quickly Disapparated. She Reapparated in an alley behind Harry's building, on the other side of town. The sky was growing darker, the air moister, and the wind was picking up. She shuddered and hurried inside.

As much as she hated Grimmauld Place, Hermione much preferred it to this. It was much more private at least, and there were always an old face. But Harry refused to stay there. Too many bad memories he said. The memories followed him, though, even if he refused to admit it.

After climbing several flights of stairs and walking through a small maze of hallways, she stopped at a white door, two golden stickers that read_ 4 _and_ G_ peeling off the door jam. She took off her hat and rapped lightly with her knuckles.

No response.

Hermione knocked again, louder and longer. Still nothing. She tried the knob. Locked.

Glancing up and down the corridor, she pulled her wand from her pocket and tapped the brass handle. It clicked softly and she slipped inside.

"Harry?" she called, closing the door behind her. "Harry, are you home?" She took off her jacket and tossed it on the sofa with her scarf and hat. The living room was empty, as was his small study.

On the other side of the kitchen is the hallway where both the bedroom and bathroom branched off. The bedroom door was cracked opened, a sliver of light escaping and cutting into the carpet. Hermione heard a moan and a thud, followed by a soft _glug_ of liquid escaping from a bottle.

Her mood darkened at once. "Not... a-bloody-gain," she growled, teeth gritted so hard she thought they would shatter. She balled her hands to fists and stomped down the hallway, the heat of ire rising in her chest. Angrily, she threw open the door.

An old scene lay before her: empty bottles littered the floor and dresser, the stale smell of cheap beer hung in the air. The mirror that hung above the chest of drawers was smashed, a few bits of glass clung to the frame.

And sprawled unceremoniously on the bed was The Boy Who Lived, glasses askew on his face, eyes closed. Another pathetic moan escaped from his lips, his head rolled lazily on his shoulders.

Sympathy was the farthest emotion from her mind. "Harry," she strode to the side of the bed and shook his shoulders harshly. "Harry, wake up!"

He let out a whimper and grabbed Hermione's wrists, weakly trying to release his shirt from her grasp.

"Yeah, couldn't care less if you've got a headache. Brought it on yourself. Wake up."

Harry groaned again, this time his eyes fluttered opened and he cast her a groggy look. "Hullo, Hermione. How are you this fine morning?" He ran his tongue over his lips and yawned.

Wrinkling her nose as his breath made it's way to her face, she released him and stood up straight. "It is three in the afternoon, Harry. Get up." She folder her arms across her chest and glared down at him.

"Yes, well... I don't really care, actually." He moaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at her. "Whatcha doing here?"

"I was worried about you. You can't just go days without sending me an owl or something. I worry."

"I am truly, very sorry."

"It seems as though you've managed to keep yourself occupied," she said, righting a few of the bottles atop his dresser. "You've had a bit more than you usually do, I see." She sighed and picked up a shard of glass. "What did the mirror say to tick you off this time?"

"It keeps saying what a stupid git I am for letting Ginny slip through my fingers." He found a bottle with something left in it and drained it. "Like I don't know that already; I don't need a stupid mirror to tell me."

Hermione pulled out her wand and repaired the mirror with a wave. "So often do you think you're going to do this? Do you think that getting drunk and smashing things up is going to help? Going to change anything? Bring anyone back?"

"No, that would just be stupid. I do this for fun."

"A hangover is your idea of fun?"

"Oh Hermione, I'm not hungover. I'm still drunk!"

"That's it! I am not dealing with this! I'm calling Fred, and he can handle this. I am not in the mood."

"Too late."

She ignored him, took out her cell phone and punched in Fred's number. She'd insisted they all get one. It was easier and safer than owls or fireplaces. (And it was a tether to the 'safe' non-magical world, but she wasn't about to admit that.)

Outside of the bedroom, in the hallway, she heard a familiar jingle.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," she moaned, snapping her phone shut.

Sure enough, when she opened the door to the bathroom, there was Fred curled up in front of the toilet in all his glory. Hermione resisted the sudden urge to kick him.

"Fred... FRED!" she barked. His head shot up and slammed into the porcelain. Cursing loudly, he sat up and leaned against the commode, rubbing the back of his head.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" he asked groggily.

"Well, I was worried about Harry. But it seems as thought you've been helping him through his crisis. So, how is getting thoroughly smashed working?" She crossed her arms and glared down at him, eyes flashing and boring holes into his own.

"I am _not_ smashed, Hermione."

"Oh, you just enjoy sleeping in front the toilet then, is that it?"

"I had a few drinks, and that was it. You're blowing –"

"Save it, Fred. This is ridiculous! Look at yourself; you are passed out on the floor of a bathroom. I bet you haven't opened the shop in days, have you?"

"That has nothing to do with –"

"Of course it does! For the love of Merlin, Fred," she threw her arms up in the air in exasperation, "you can't expect to move on with your life if you stay in a rut like this."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione. You are the last person who should be lecturing me." Using the bathtub as leverage, he climbed to his feet. "Yeah, I drink more often than I should. Yeah, sometimes I go a couple days without opening the store. But at least I'm doing something. At least I'm messing up my life instead of not living one."

"I have a life!" she cried angrily. Tears of anger sprang to her eyes unbidden.

"Going to your parents house every other day is not a life! Wandering around muggle bookstores and pawn shops buying books you'll never read isn't a life. You have half a dozen filled bookcases in your living room alone, and I bet you've read barely a third of them."

"I don't want to get into this right now." She turned and walked out of the bathroom. Fred followed her.

"You go shopping fifteen minutes before the grocery closes. You work as a receptionist in a shoestring law firm. You were the top student at Hogwarts, Hermione. You had dozens of job offers. But you live in your own unknown little world completely cut off from everything you were. If it weren't for me and Harry, I'd bet all my gold in Gringotts that you'd be living as a complete muggle."

Hermione stopped walking and whirled around. "Oh, and your life is so much better?" she snapped. "Maybe I should take a page out of your book. Go to a different pub three times a week. Pick up anyone that'll have me and go to a motel. Leave them taxi fare on the night stand and disappear before they wake up."

"Don't talk about things you have no idea about."

Her hands balled into fists, long fingernails biting into the flesh of her palms. "_I_ don't know what I'm talking about? You aren't the one who's ever lost the people he loves. But jumping into bed with every bawd that gives you a passing glance won't fill the void. Neither will drinking until you pass out with numbness."

"Maybe I'll jump on your bandwagon, then: I'll flutter around like I have a purpose, and just pretend I don't have feelings. Honestly, the way you act makes it seem as though you never loved Ron in –"

Fred was cut off mid-sentence as Hermione's hand connected with his cheek with a solid _smack_. He looked at her with wide eyes, jaw slack.

"Go to Hell," she growled.

Before Fred, could say anything, she had Disapparated.

* * *

Hermione sobbed beneath the burning torrent in her shower. She let her tears flow into the beads of water clinging to her face, undistinguishable from one another. She cried until her skin was red and raw; until the water turned to liquid ice; until there were no more tears in her. 

She turned of the shower, toweled herself dry, and changed into a fresh set of pajamas.

She felt like shit.

Her fingers traced over the crescent shaped grooves in her palms. _I didn't think he'd gotten to me so badly. _With a sigh, she flipped the light switch and walked out of the bathroom.

Fred's words echoed through her head as she made herself a snack in the kitchen. _How could he even _think_ that I never loved Ron? _she thought as she spread peanut butter on a slice of toast. _That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard. _She tossed the toast on a plate and went into the living room.

Ripping off a corner and chewing slowly, she looked over the bookcases that lined the walls. Fred was right; she hadn't read _any _of these.

_Then why did I buy them?_

All of a sudden, she wasn't so hungry. Leaving the dish on the coffee table, she headed into her bedroom.

A train rumbled on the nearby tracks, jolting everything in her flat. Ignoring it, she knelt in front of her dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. The whistle blew as she reached underneath a small pile of old pants and pulled out an old maroon sweater. She settled back against her bed, running her hand across the knit _R_ on the front.

Tears sprung to Hermione's eyes as she pulled the sweater over her head. The wool was rough against her skin. She bunched the material around her nose, but the smell of Ron was long ago lost under the musty smell of time.

The whistle faded and the shaking stopped, and Hermione closed her eyes as floods of memories washed over her.

"No," she whispered, pushing the images out of her mind. "That's all done and over with."

Leaving Ron's sweater on, she crawled onto her bed. She grabbed her wand, flicked the lights off, then blindly tossed it back.

"And I would _not_ be living as a muggle," she said aloud, her voice echoing through the empty apartment.

Without slipping beneath the covers, she curled into a ball and slipped into what she hoped to be a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next morning Hermione woke with a start as a series of harsh raps sounded off her front door. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and made her way groggily to the front hall. 

Yawning, she pulled open the door to find Fred standing there, fist still in the air.

"Erm... morning, Hermione. Did I wake you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact you did. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to apologize for last night."

"You couldn't do this at any point later during the day?" she asked, yawning again.

"I'm opening the store in a little while, and I'm not sure how busy it'll be..." He trailed off as his eyes wandered down to her chest. "Are you wearing Ron's old sweater?"

"Uh... yes." She shifted uncomfortably under his stare. "Well, don't just stand there in the hallway, come in,"she said, stepping back. He pushed past her and made his way to her kitchen. Hermione closed the door and followed him.

"Look, I really wanted to say I'm sorry," Fred started, settling into a chair at the table. "I don't know why I said those things."

"Coffee? Tea?"

"No thanks. Listen, I thought about what you said, about all the girls and drinking. I know I should back off, but I... I just don't know what to do with myself nowadays. I have no inspiration for new candies; I barely sleep at night. So I go out."

Hermione put the kettle on the stove and sat down in the chair next to his. "I know that it's hard, Fred. And I shouldn't have been nasty, yesterday; you don't deserve that. But with Harry and you, and it's all the time... I can't keep playing the mother."

"You don't _have_ to!"

"But I feel like I do!" She ran both her hands through her tangled mass of hair and sighed. "I mean, who else is going to take care of the two of you? You're doing alright - and I use the term 'alright' very, _very _loosely - but Harry just keeps slipping, and I can't lose him, too."

Fred covered Hermione's hand with his own. "I know that you care about him. I know that you hate feeling helpless. But this is something you have no control over. You can tell him not to drink. Hell, _I_ tell him that he drinks too much. But the same lines over and over again isn't going to change anything. This is one of "learning experiences" our mothers warned us about when we were young. If it get any worse than this, we'll intervene. Until then, he's an adult who will come to his own conclusions sooner or later."

A small, sad smile found it's way to her lips. "Fred Weasley, when did you become so wise?"

"Lots of "learning experiences"... _lots _of them." His thumb gently rubbed the soft skin on the back of her hand as he offered her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

_His smiles never quite reach his eyes these days, _she thought sadly.

The kettle whistled shrilly, bringing them out of their lull. Hermione pulled her hand from his and stood up.

"Well, I should get going," Fred sighed rising from his chair. "Those delights aren't going to sell themselves, you know."

"Hold on I'll walk you out," she replied, turning off the stove and setting the kettle on a different burner.

"You know, Hermione," he told her as the reached the door, "you don't need to be a stranger at the store." His hand wrapped around the handle. "The wizarding world won't be thrown into a frenzy if you make an appearance in Diagon Alley."

"I know, I know." She reached past him and pulled open the door. "Maybe I'll make an appearance later on this week."

"I'd like that. Maybe you can help me out with some new candies. I'm always open to new suggestions."

"How about something doesn't have the chance of landing a student in detention?"

"Hmm, probably not. But I like that you suggested it."

Hermione laughed, and a real smile finally lit up his eyes. "You need to do that more often. Sadness doesn't suit you as well."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." She raised up on her tip toes to give Fred a quick kiss before wrapping her arms around his neck. "Please take care of yourself," she whispered. "I need some stability in my life once in awhile."

He licked his lips and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her off the floor. "I will, as long as you aren't a stranger to Wizarding Wheezes."

She pulled her head back to look him in the eyes. "I promise."

"Good," he replied, cocking his head and smiling. "And now I must be off." He set her back on the floor.

"I'll see you soon."

"You'd better." And with that, he disappeared down the hall.

Hermione shut her door and smiled to herself, running her fingers along the collar of Ron's sweater. The Weasley Boys always had a way of cheering her up.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione looked up over her plate and asked, "Is everything alright, Harry?"

The dim light in the restaurant glinted off his glasses as he raised his chin to look at her. "I sold Ginny's ring this afternoon." His eyes and voice were soft with sadness.

Fred's jaw momentarily stopped moving. His eyes darted between the two of them a few times before he finished chewing and swallowed. "I didn't know you'd already bought a ring," he replied, spearing a piece of chicken and bringing it to his mouth nonchalantly.

The slight quiver in his voice gave him away.

"Yeah." Harry pushed his green beans around the edge of his dish. "It wasn't anything big or special. But, y'know, it just symbolized how... uh... how much I loved her."

Hermione chewed her bottom lip and shifted uncomfortably in her chair, throwing a glance at Fred as if to ask 'what do we say?" He responded with wide eyes, a confused shake of his head and a quick shrug, all rolled into one.

"Do you think we could head out?" Harry said suddenly. "I don't have much of an appetite anymore."

"Sure," she responded quickly, "no problem."

He stood, took his wallet and pulled out a piece of paper muggle money. "Here's my share. I'm going outside for some air." He grabbed his jacket and headed to the exit.

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair, tangling her hand in her hair. "We finally get him out of his place, and it's the day he decides to pawn his bloody engagement ring."

"Aww, you're concerned _and_ bitter. That is so cute."

"Well, come on, Fred. He does this all the time. Every time we talk him into doing anything, he finds something to remind himself of Ginny and gets all depressed. It's like the man is allergic to happiness."

"You have to cut him some slack. One can only take so much loss in one lifetime, and he has far exceeded the limit."

"I know, I know." She grabbed her glass of wine and took a large sip. "But I am just being warn so thin. I want to not have to worry about him all the time."

"Just be grateful he's cut back on his drinking," Fred replied with a sigh. "I was going to buy him a new liver as a Christmas present."

"Let's get out of here. Harry's probably freezing one or two delicate extremities off just standing outside." She rose out of her chair while draining the remnants of her drink. Fred cast her a raised eyebrow. "Don't give me that look. I deserve a glass once in awhile. And I am not letting it go to waste."

He shrugged into his jacket and buttoned it tightly. "What ever you say, 'Mione." He held up her jacket and she slid her arms through.

"Thanks. And don't call me 'Mione. Ever again."

"Alright, sugar bottom."

"Better," she said, tugging a knit cap over her ears. "Much better."

-

The three of them walked down the cold street, identical clouds of silver breath dancing before their faces. Small flurries swirled in the air around them, catching in their hair and clothing. At the corner of Hermione's street, Harry stopped. "I'm going to head on home. I'll talk to you two later."

"Alright. Have a good night," Hermione replied, gathering him in a hug.

"See ya later, mate," Fred said, accompanying it with a small wave.

Harry flashed them a small smile, and disappeared in the night.

Hermione let out a deep sigh. "I don't know why he bother's lying to us. He's going to visit her; we both know it."

"Let him think he's being discreet. It could be a lot worse." He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and looked at her. "So, what do you want to do now?"

"I was looking at a night in alone. Do you want to join me?"

"I don't know... are you sure I won't be intruding on your crazy social life?"

She laughed, cheeks flushed from the cold. "The minute I get any sort of social life you'll be the first to know."

"Well, then, I guess I won't refuse."

-

A few minutes later, they sat on the couch they'd pushed in front of the fireplace, mugs of cocoa warming their fingers. Their wet clothing lay before the hearth, the flames slowly drying them.

Hermione took a sip of her hot drink. "So how is the store doing?"

"It's doing alright. I'm still having some trouble coming up with new treats though." He set his empty cup down and pulled his blanket up around his chest.

After a moment of silence, she said, "How about a Black-Eye-Brownie... or Biscuit... or something?"

Fred looked at her quizzically. "A _what_ brownie?"

"A Black-Eye-Brownie. You know, if you eat it, it makes it look as though you've got a black eye. Tell your professor that someone you don't like did it, land them in detention."

Silence.

Then he burst into laughter. "Where did you ever think that up?"

Her cheeks flushed. "I don't know. It just seems up your alley. 'Get your enemies back for past annoyances' and all that. If it's stupid, just tell me."

"No, I think it's hilarious. I'm just surprised it came from you."

"Well, when we were in Hogwarts, Ron was always saying how he would love to get Malfoy back for everything he said and did, but he never quite managed it. He could've used a little help." She lowered her head and traced the lip of her mug with her finger.

"You know, Hermione, all this time you've been worried about me and Harry, but you've never let on about how you're holding up."

"I don't want to be a bother to the two of you."

"You could never be a bother to me."

She looked up from her cup and gazed at him, his eyes full of concern and understanding. She sighed and leaned against the arm of the sofa.

"It kills me," she said simply. "Every day I wake up without him beside me a tiny part of me dies. I walk down the street and see him in shops and in cars. I hear his voice calling my name softly the way he did when he told me loved me, but when I turn around I'm alone. I wake up in the middle of the night because I can feel his touch and it's nothing but a draft. I walk around in a fog. And... it's killing me."

Fred stared, awed at how empty her eyes were. "I want you to do something for me."

"And what's that?"

He took the mug from her hands and set it beside his own. "I want you to come here," he grabbed her arm and pulled her so she was sitting next to him instead of facing him, "and put your head on my shoulder, and act like a human and cry."

She cast him a horrified look. "No, that's ridiculous. I don't need..." she started, moving away from him. But he kept his grip firm.

"Listen to me. It's been almost half a year since he died. I haven't seen you cry once. I've seen you ache over Harry's grief, and I've been comforted by you myself. But you seem to be keeping everything to yourself. And I would be one bastard of a friend if I shared my pains with you, but didn't return the favor." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"But... I can't..."

He lifted her chin with his hand and looked her straight in the eye. "Hermione, don't - for one moment - consider that I'll think you are a weak person because I'll see you at a low point. It's quite the opposite."

Looking up into his face, something in Hermione finally broke. Tears welled in her eyes, the corners of her lips quivering. She burst into tears and buried her face in Fred's chest, hands wound weakly in his shirt.

He wrapped her in his arms and whispered that it was alright, that it was okay, that the pain she felt was natural. One hand combed her hair absentmindedly, the other around her waist.

She sobs racked her body, built up over the previous months. Crying in showers, silently weeping as she filed the claims at the office, wiping away tears in the markets: none of those times were like this. All those had been contained; she stopped when she needed to. But this time... this time the building could collapse and she'd keep going.

"I miss him so much," she managed to choke out.

She felt him sigh against her and rest a cheek on the top of her head. "I know it does." He pulled blankets around them and tightened his embrace around her tiny, trembling frame.

"I _know_ how much... all too well.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:

_So. It's been a while. About two years or so. SORRY. But! Here's a new chapter. So, it makes up for it, right? Right._

* * *

Fred walked through the front door of a bland building on a no-name street and strode down the hallway. He came upon a door he knew well and threw it open, not bothering to signal his arrival with a knock.

Hermione's head snapped up, and the look of surprise on her face quickly melted into a tired smile. "Afternoon, Fred." Her hair was pulled back off her neck in a messy ponytail, and her shirt was rumpled. Files and papers littered her desk, a cup of coffee sat on bare spot of wood, sure to leave a ring.

"My dear lady, you look deliciously frowzy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a gentleman friend hiding under all these folders." He grinned at her and sitting on the corner of the desk, picked up a piece of looseleaf paper and started folding it.

She rolled her eyes. "'Gentleman friend'. I'd sooner find my sanity under this mess." She waved her arm at the piles.

"Let's go get something to eat," Fred said, carefully licking a crimp and then tearing it.

"Fred, I have _so_ much work to do. I don't have time. Can't we do it some other day?"

"Hermione..."

"Hmm?" She stuffed a small pile of papers into a manila folder and opened the drawer of a green filing cabinet.

"What did you do last night?"

"Slept. Why?" _Slam_. She turned back to her mess, head down.

"Well, Happy New Year." He pinched the final crease and set down the lump of paper down next to him, getting off the desk.

"Huh?" She didn't look up.

He sighed and reached into his back pocket. "Hermione. There's this thing. It's called life."

"What's that?" An automatic response to his usual nonsense.

Fred shook his head and tapped his wand once on the folded paper. "It's what's passing you by." And with that, he left.

Startled by the sound of the door closing, Hermione looked up from her work. Fluttering around her head was a perfectly made origami butterfly.

***

The next few weeks went pretty smoothly for the new trio. As smoothly as they could amidst the chaos of every day life.

Harry no longer spent the majority of his life alone and drunk. He'd opted for an active role in the Order, something that Hermione and Fred had been reluctant to do. Now, most of his time was spent at Grimmauld Place, learning new spells and dueling techniques from Lupin. About once a week he made an effort to come to Fred's place and eat dinner with the two of them.

Hermione quit her job at the law firm. No, she didn't know exactly what she was going to do. She'd told Fred about a dozen times as she sat in the living room of his flat sipping some form of drink that he'd offer. Any sort, these days. She thought about going back to school, but unsure about what exactly she'd study. Some days, Fred would walk into his apartment and find her there already, scouring the classified sections of The Daily Profit and a few different muggle papers.

Fred was, well, Fred. He spent his days at the shop. Taking inventory of his tricks and sweets. Sending out owls with new orders. Whipping up batches of new experimental treats and giving them out as free samples to unsuspecting customers. He'd refused to hire a new person to work for him, something Hermione had tried talking him into over and over again. But each time she mentioned it Fred would shake his head, say it was founded by two people and that would continue to be run by just two, and change the subject.

By all appearances, Fred was adjusting as well as either her or Harry.

But at night, he would relapse. Most nights, the exception being the nights he had dinner with Harry and Hermione, he'd come back to his flat and throw a couple cups of coffee down his throat before heading right back out. Sometimes he would drink, sometimes he wouldn't. Getting drunk wasn't the point of his nightly excursions. Those nights, he went searching.

Sometimes, he went to Hogsmeade, but more often than not he went to muggle bars and clubs. Looking. Finding a different girl each time, hoping that this one was the one who could fix him. A few drinks, a couple of songs on the dance floor, a short exchange of whispers from lips to ear. And she would grab him by the hand and pull him out to the street, back to her place. Always her place.

And for a couple hours – before he fell asleep, spent and exhausted, next to a stranger in a strange place – Fred would forget about the half of him that was hollow. Every morning after, before she woke up, he would lie there, searching his mind. Seeing if this woman was the one who would finally take up the empty space that used to be filled by his twin. It never was. And he would slip out of bed as quietly as he could, toss on last nights clothes, and head to the shop.

So far, he hadn't slipped up, hadn't let on to Hermione or Harry what he was doing whenever the called him, asking if he wanted to go with either of them to dinner or a movie. He pawned off excuses of working late or catching up on sleep. In the back of his mind, he knew that sooner or later it would all wear him down. But he pushed those thoughts as far back as he could and went on with his life.

***

Harry went away in the middle of February..

Hermione sat sideways in one of Fred's armchairs. In one hand she held a glass of juice, resting it lightly on her thigh while the other helped her describe her day to Fred, who was busy cooking in the kitchen. She had on a loose black skirt and a short sleeved button up shirt, her hair tied into a bun at the nape of her neck; her usual outfit.

She had recently gotten a job as a waitress at a small restaurant in town. Muggle owned and frequented, to Fred's dismay. He still felt like she was shying away from the wizarding world. But he still made a point to get lunch there during her shift.

But of course, as was usually the case with him, there were ulterior motives. Suddenly, or maybe gradually, he couldn't be certain, Fred had fallen for Hermione.

It was hard to pin point the exact moment he'd realized it. One day Hermione was attempting, poorly, to recite a joke she'd heard at work. Half way through she started laughing, forgetting the ending but remembering it was hilarious. And Fred had to stop himself from leaning in to kiss her. It took a moment for it to register with him, and Hermione kept giggling. She took a look at the disbelief on his face and laughed again, saying he was right, she could really be ditsy sometimes and asked if he wanted help closing down the store.

For the first few days, he tried to ignore it. Pretending that those feelings weren't right there, waiting to boiling over. But spending so much time with her, it was impossible.

Her laugh sent pin pricks through his veins. Each time her skin touched his – grabbing a plate so their fingers touched, when she reached past him for something and the arms would brush, when she laughed and ruffled his hair – goose flesh broke out all over his body and his heart would race.

He wanted to grab a fist full of her hair and pull her close and bury his face in her locks. To hold her, and let her hold him. He wanted, needed to love and be loved.

But instead he stood at his stove, listening to Hermione's story, and gently flipping pieces of fish in a sauce pan. He lowered the flame and turned toward the living room, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the counter.

Hermione had finished, and was chuckling into her glass. She scratched the back of her leg with the opposite foot, causing her skirt to ride up her hip. Fred sighed shakily and picked up is own drink.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Oh nothing." He drained the glass and set it next to the sink. "Dinner's almost done, and Harry's late. I don't want him eating cold fish. It's kind of gross."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be here soon," she assured him. "Moody and Lupin are probably just working him overtime. I think they're close to tracking down Voldemort." She gently set her drink on the floor next to the chair and stretched. Her back straitened, lifting her up. Her arms reached over her head, pulling her shirt untucked. Her skirt was dangerously close to bunching at her waist, and Fred could see the creamy flesh of her stomach.

Suppressing a moan, he knelt down, rummaging through the cabinet beneath the sink for a bottle of wine. He was a terrible older brother, he told himself, for lusting after Ron's girlfriend.

The thought stopped him, his fingers just inches from the neck of the bottle. Ron's _former_ girlfriend. Ron was gone, and as terrible as that was, Hermione didn't belong to him anymore. She didn't belong to any one; she wasn't a book or a pair of shoes. But, he thought, she could belong with me.

There was an emptiness in both of them, he knew. But maybe, they could fill each others' void.

He stood up and shook his head, closing the cabinet with a soft kick. Just because he was looking to be bandaged back together didn't mean she was too. She could be doing just fine. She probably didn't even want anyone else than Ron. He unplugged the cork and pored himself a generous serving.

"Hermione, do you mind grabbing some plates? Everything is pretty much done." He pushed his train of thought away. "I'll just put Harry's plate in the oven."

While Fred turned things off and removed other things from the heat, Hermione came into the kitchen, pulling out plates and silverware and rearranging them on the table. She stood next to him, holding out a dish. "Fred, this looks amazing," she said as he slid a fillet onto it.

"Oh yes. Fish, rice and green beans." He grinned at her, watching as she spooned the sides into neat piles next to the fish. She bent down and opened the oven. Fred cocked an eyebrow. "I've really outdone myself this time."

Straitening and closing the door, she rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean. You've turned into a fantastic cook." She passed behind him. She reached out and stroked the back of his neck, letting her fingers glide down his chin when he turned his head to follow her. "It's one of the many things I love about you."

Fred's stomach tightened. He banged his plate down on the table, making Hermione stop and turn around on her way back into living room. A hand flew to her chest.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes concerned.

"Hermione, I need – "

He was interrupted by a loud crash coming from the front hall. Both he and Hermione rushed towards the door. It was open, and Harry was struggling his way through. In his hands were Hedwig's cage, his trunk, and large duffel bag.

Fred let out a relieved whistle. "Harry, mate, you almost gave me a heart attack. Do you need a hand?"

Harry looked up, startled. "Fred. Yes. Hello. Yes, I wouldn't mind some help. Here." He shoved Hedwig into Fred's outstretched hands.

He looked more disheveled than usual. His green eyes were rimmed red, as though he'd either been crying or not sleeping. Possibly both. His hair, which was usually a wreck, looked as though it hadn't been tended to in days. His shirt was misbuttoned.

Hermione struggled to keep her voice even. "Do you want me to grab your bag for you?"

"No thanks. I'll just leave it here." He let his suitcase fall from his fist. "I can't stay long anyway." He followed Hermione back into the kitchen.

Fred put Hedwig next to his fridge. "But I just finished making supper. Surely you can stay for an hour or so."

"No!" Harry snapped. Hermione and Fred shared a look. "Sorry, sorry," Harry muttered, sifting a hand through his hair. "I mean, I can't. Really, I just stopped in to say good bye."

"Goodbye?! Where are you going?"

"America. North America. Canada, actually. The Order's heard from a very reliable source that Voldemort's up in the wilderness there. So I'm heading there with a few other members. I just wanted to make sure you could take care of Hedwig for me. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

Ignoring the shocked looks on his friends' faces, he walked to her cage and knelt, pulling a handful of pellets from his pockets. He opened the wire door and fed his owl a couple. Whispering softly, he gently pet her feathers.

Hermione stared wildly at Fred, who arched both his eyebrows and shrugged. He picked up his wine and took a large swallow.

Harry walked over to Fred and shoved the leftover pellets into his free hand. "Well, that's that. I've got to go. No knowing when Voldemort may start moving again." He pulled Fred into a hug, almost sloshing wine over both of them. "Take care of yourself. Take care of Hermione for me," he murmured into Fred's ear.

Hermione was in his arms as soon as he let go of Fred. He wrapped an arm around her waist, stroking her hair. "Keep an eye on Fred. Make sure he stays out of trouble." He pulled back and kissed her cheek. Tears brimmed her eyes. "You were the best sister I could have wished for. I love you."

"I love you, too," she said, her voice trembling. She pressed a fist into her lips.

With that, Harry hurried to his bags and out the door, slamming it behind him.

They stood in silence. Hermione sagged against Fred, her shoulders limp. She stared at one of the kitchen chairs, her eyes glossy. "I don't think he's coming back," he said softly. She burst into tears.

Fred pressed his face into her hair and held her, letting her hold him.


End file.
